Have you ever had the problem of letting things go? I do. The truth is, I’m a hoarder. I’m a collector of things, memories and of loved ones, if possible. But when time requires you to loosen your grip and empty your palms, I tend to want to cling to the things I have grown fond of no matter what.
My heart is obstinate, but it’s learning to loosen up.
I remember the story of young kids trying to hold on to their toys at play, all day, even at sleep. Why? Because those toys are something precious to them and losing site of these objects make them feel alone. I’m somewhat like that. I tend to embrace and attach myself to the things important to me like a slug (not a leech). I want to be near them. I want to know that they exist and they’re just a few steps away.
But as we grow older, our hearts turn harder. No longer is it tender, soft and gentle; something that beats madly for the things we habitually need to see. We somehow learn how to easily dispatch things if they’re no longer needed. I, for one, somehow understood the importance of gauging priorities. The drawings and poems I used to keep when I was very young, I easily dumped them inside the trash can because they’re piling up inside my cabinet.
What I used to deem as treasure are now trash.
It’s a bit of a wonder how we see things differently as we grow older.
I have kept a lot of memories just for the sake of remembering they existed. Some of those memories are good, some of them are bad. I cling to those things that reminded me of childhood, of who I was back then. But now that I am older, I am ready to wipe out those memories and start with a clean slate. The thing that’s more important to me is this:
And I guess, that’s what’s letting go is all about. To move forward. Towards something better.